Nothing has Changed
by Sabitspooky
Summary: I was sick of him. I was sick of it all. ((Some violence but not overly graphic. Written as an experiment, since I don't have a whole lot of experience writing.))


Stepping through the doorway I hear the familiar notes of the piano as the open space bursting with white reaches my sight. It's a sight I've seen a million times and will see a million more. I don't even know why I go here anymore, but I keep coming back of that I'm sure. Sometimes I go for days without coming back and sometimes I come back every day.

The slim but masculine creature in black playing the piano stops momentarily to look at me. Eyes squint happily, if he had a mouth I know he'd be smiling. A chip-tune beep emanates from his person as he goes back to playing. He's in a good mood as he always is.

Crouching down I sit only a foot or two away from him on the floor. Despite seeing them, I ignore the table and chairs in the center of the room. They're the only thing in this room outside the piano, so there's no reason I wouldn't see them; however, this time I don't want anything to do with them.

Through half slit, tired eyes I watch him play in a cheerful fashion. His fingers glide over the ivory keys, never missing a moment. When I saw him for the first time the name Seccom Masada surfaced in my mind and that's just what I've called him or at least thought of him as. I don't quite talk to him, it's not as if he'd have much to say without a mouth anyway.

Staring out the massive window at the billions of twinkling stars I zone out for a undetermined amount of time. When I came back to, the room is as I left it. I stand up and clench my hand as if grabbing some invisible thing. In a flash of light a kitchen knife appears in my hand.

The glint of stainless steel catches Masada's eye and he jumps back, a series of high beeps come from him. I strike fast plunging the blade deeply into his side, Masada makes the scream-like sound similar to the scratch of a record. I can tell he's in pain from the look in his lopsided eyes, wide and also full of confusion and fear.

Twisting the knife elicits tears. He raises a shaky hand at me as if to ask why but I tear through his abdomen with a swift motion of the knife. He let's out one last squeal-like beep high enough that it would cause me to cover my ears, or at least it would if I weren't so use to it before disappearing right before my eyes.

How many times have we been through this? Almost as many times as I entered the room I'm sure. At first I used to enjoy coming here, it was quiet and nice unlike some of my other dreams. Nothing chased me here; no blinding colors or blinking lights, only me and him.

Soon though, I came to resent it. Within the quiet, I became restless. I couldn't just leave the way I came; in trying to do so, I'd find the door had disappeared. The white room began to hurt my eyes and the cheery piano man became too happy, too upbeat for my moods. I was sick of him. I was sick of it all.

The first time I did it, I thought this was it I won't have to see him again. Curiosity got the best of me, though, and I found myself back inside Masada's spaceship. As I entered into that giant room, I found a man in black playing his piano. With the same mouth-less smile he'd given me the first time we'd met he played me a song.

Nothing had changed. I began to get angry. How could he be so happy? It made me angrier to think about it. Every time I came back it was if nothing had even happened. He was always there, even after I killed him. He wasn't even angry at me. Didn't he know what I did to him? Why was he always so happy to see me? Why was my mind doing this to me?

Teardrops slide down my cheeks as I reach up with one hand and give one of them a pinch. My eyes open staring at the drab ceiling of my room. My dismal room with all its dismal trimmings leading out to a balcony with a dismal view of a dismal world.

Nothing has changed. No matter how many times I killed him, nothing would change. In the same way, no matter how much I dreamed, nothing here would change either.

Stepping through the doorway I hear the familiar notes of the piano as the open space bursting with white reaches my sight. It's a sight I've seen a million times and will see a million more. A happy chip-tune beep comes from the figure in black as he plays me a song and a tear runs down my cheek.


End file.
